Ask Nothing of this World
What is this?
What sleek retribution is held within the
Slightest movement on the soil?
What slim issues stance is almost broken
In cadence and cascade?
Words shall leave the senses blind,
Enough, time will find a healing balm for
Eye to seize the day, when all in dreams must
Fade; oh, this is not a sadness offered; this is not the final cut of circumstance; for
yes, my fellow’s dreams are sharp, yes their corners are folded clarity; all plans are
Squared away this day; all is smooth and proper in
Some ceremony of guilt and pleasure – but low a lasting treasure is found beyond such rituals,
Such histrionic poses; beyond your comprehension –
A gift which beats a pulsar tympani – as angels moan
In symphony to herald the coming of His summation;
His fingers on the moon, unseen tendrils tug the axis
of the universe toward a sanguine moment…
Shout this Brothers!
His fiber strands withstand all trauma, his nightly dream,
Your daily drama to give your heart a twirl,
To ask nothing of this world.